


A Taste of Tomorrow

by spikesgirl58



Series: The Tasteful Adventures of Illya and Matt [8]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 22:21:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1165250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya and Matt have survived their first holiday season.  Now what?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Taste of Tomorrow

Illya Kuryakin paused by the light switch, nudging it off with his elbow.  His hands were still sticky with Cornhuskers Lotion.  He hated having to use hand lotion, but the air in Jackson was so dry that it was a necessity.  His hands were so wet most of the time that they were a homing beacon for cracks and dry skin.  This was the best stuff he’d found and the scent wasn’t over-powering.

In the dim light, he threaded his way to the living room.  He glanced at the staircase and sighed.  Perhaps this spring, he’d finally make it up the stairs, but for now he’d stay down.  The fireplace was here and it was currently the only heat source in the small house.

“Room for me?” he asked unnecessarily as he limped to the mattress.  Matt had already tossed aside the blankets in preparation for him.  Giving his hands one last shake and rub, Illya sank to the floor and climbed in between the sheet and blankets.  Sleeping on the floor was not something he’d reckoned with at his age, but again, when it’s cold out, logic dictates that you stay close to the heat source.

Illya settled back on the mattress and wiggled a bit to get as comfortable as he could.  It wouldn’t matter for long.   As tired as he was, Illya would be able to sleep on a slab of concrete.  After a moment, the two cats joined them and the only noise in the room was the crackling fire.

“We made it through New Year’s, Illya.”  Matt’s voice was rough from a lack of sleep and shouting.  The last month had been seven kinds of insane.  “What now?”

“We do what we can to keep the door open until Valentine’s Day.”  Illya yawned and rolled his ankles.  “Remember how beat we used to be after Carlton’s class?”

“ _Si,_ I do.”

“I’m more tired than that.”

“ _Comprensibile._   He was one man making our lives _inferno_.  Tonight, it was a hundred such men and women.  I did not know Taste could accomodate so many people.  She was bulging.”

“How are we going to do this, Matt?”  Illya sighed and rolled to his side to study the profile of his business partner.  “You are young, but I am... not.”

“ _Cara_ , you have more stamina than men half your age.”  Matt reached out to stroke Illya’s cheek.  “If I had more energy, I would prove it, but now _sonno_.”

“I agree.”  He returned to his position and stared up at the living room ceiling.   He wiggled again, trying to get comfortable.  The cats took take as an invitation to play with his toes. 

Matt watched them, still too keyed up to sleep.  “We should get the furnace looked at.  Then we could sleep in the bed.”

“I will go out back and plunk some cash off the money tree.”

_“Cara?”_

“It’s a saying – Money doesn’t grow on trees.”

 _“Si,_ I know this.”

“All the money we have is tied up in the restaurant.  We’ve barely got enough to cover our overhead as it is.  Sadly, that doesn’t include refitting our furnace... at least not right now.”

“Soon, soon we will have enough money to survive, Illya.  I am sure of it.”

“I’m glad one of us is.”  Still, Illya managed a smile.  “We’ll be okay.  As long as the firewood holds out, we can keep the downstairs warm.  Now to keep from starving to death.”

“ _Cara_ , we own a resaturant.  We will eat leftovers.  And I promise, one day, we will look back on this and laugh.”

Illya’s smile was sad.  “I hope so, Matt.  I hope so.”   But in his heart, he doubted that he would ever experience the true joy and happiness he’d once had.  Setting his jaw, he closed his eyes.  Who the hell needed happiness to survive?  Not Illya Kuryakin.  Not anymore.

 


End file.
